


Borderline Bits

by rebelwriter6561



Series: Borderline [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: A+ Coping Mechanisms, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Depression, Fake AH Crew, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mute Vagabond, Night Terrors, Pining, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwriter6561/pseuds/rebelwriter6561
Summary: Alternate takes, extra scenes, and various additional scenes from Borderline.





	1. Where The Lonely Ones Roam

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be where I post the bits of [Borderline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646400/chapters/31341588) that either didn't make the first cut, or are alternate scenes, or are based off prompts from my [tumblr](http://blasphemous-lies-and-deceit.tumblr.com/). Enjoy (and feel free to send me questions/prompts there too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Inspiration: _Where The Lonely Ones Roam_ by Digital Daggers

Ryan stomped down the street, trying not to die. The sun was bearing down, reflecting off the ground and the buildings, and the humidity rose to meet it. Sweat was lingering on his skin, like a wet blanket he couldn't take off. He could barely breathe through the soup of air, and there was the distinct feeling he was slowly melting into his boots.

It was too much. The heat was terrible, oppressive, suffocating. Distracting. He couldn't focus on his surroundings, not when he was too busy trying to draw the thick, moist air into his lungs. At least the heat had driven people from the streets, but that meant they could be watching him from the comfort of their homes. Ryan had to force his head to stay down instead of watching the higher windows (because no one wandered around with their head craned up except idiots or people who wanted to be noticed). On a normal day he could handle it, but this was not a normal day. He wanted out.

He just had to keep thinking about what was waiting for him. Air conditioning. In the apartment there would be air conditioning. Blessed, sweet, cool air he could actually breathe, lighter than the shit outside. He could almost physically feel how good it would feel to step inside already, like taking the leather jacket off after a long day. Then he would shower. Wash away the layer of sweat sticking to his skin. Get rid of the stench of blood and smoke that still lingered from the job. Be as clean as he physically could, even if it never lasted.

And then he could join Ray, who would be waiting for him. Probably lying in bed or sitting up playing some game. He would get that look on his face that Ryan wasn’t sure he knew he made, every time he came back. It was such a look, a mix of a relief and actual happiness, and a tiny smile, barely ever there. But it was there ‒ and it was his. He never saw it directed at anything else, so that meant it was all for him, and he wanted it all to himself.

Everything about Ray‒his face and the slight curve of his back pressed to his side at night, the rare bursts of energy and chattiness that Ryan treasured, even the soft quiet way he never flinched from whatever darkness emerged from Ryan in his weakest moments ‒ he wanted it, all of it, all the time. He wanted more, too, wanted to know what made Ray come apart in the best way, how he would feel wrapped in his arms, how his skin would feel against his. Not in the serial-killer-skin-dress kind of way, but how soft it would feel with Ray resting against his side. Completely relaxed and content.

But he couldn't have that. He couldn’t, even if the thought made his heart sink and disappointment fill his veins. Even if sometimes it seemed Ray could possibly feel the same, it couldn't be. Because if he was wrong, and Ray was only still there because he had nowhere to go, or no energy to reach for one of the guns ‒ he couldn't risk it. He couldn't lose him like that.

His thoughts had distracted him enough to get to the back door of the apartment building. The one that was conveniently camera-free and no one ever used, perfect for unsavory characters like himself. He checked the street, looking every direction, trying to feel if there were eyes upon him. He didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean they weren't there. He should double back, snoop around, wait to see if anyone was really following him. But he was hot, he was tired, and he wanted nothing more than to be with Ray.

Ryan took the stairs up slowly, stopping at each landing to listen. He heard no footsteps coming after him. No guilty shadows ducked away when he glanced down every few floors. So far he'd never been followed back to the apartment, but he wasn't about to grow complacent just because it had never happened.

He reached their door without incident. Just the sight of it made him want to crash through it, just to be on the other side where it was safe. But he had to be careful, just in case. Because if someone was waiting on the other side…then really, what was the point of being sneaky anymore?

Only his lock was locked, as it should be. Ryan unlocked it and stepped in, taking a single breath of cool air before scanning the room. Nothing out of place, every shadow where it should be. He turned and closed his lock, and then Ray's lock. And then, finally, Ryan let his shoulders slump with a sigh. The air was as deliciously cool as he had thought it would be. He was home. He was safe.

Ryan kicked his boots off and checked Ray’s shoes by habit. Unmoved, as usual. Stepping in further, he glanced in the kitchen and smiled at the sight of dishes in the sink. Including the tupperware containers that had previously held leftovers. That meant that not only had Ray eaten, but it was more than once, and it was something homemade and healthy.

He was also pleasantly surprised, once he stepped into the hall, to find the shower running. Ray was showering, unprompted. He couldn't stop the smile from growing on his face. That was good, very good, almost better than coming home to Ray waiting for him with that smile in bed. That meant Ray had energy, drive, enough to get up and _do_ something, even something as simple as shower.

He wasn’t even mad about postponing his own shower. Instead, Ryan shed his shirt and positioned himself at the end of the bed, directly in front of the air conditioner. He pulled his hair up, so the cold air could reach the sweaty skin at the back of his neck. It felt amazing, almost as good as the small feeling of satisfaction that Ray had evidently not spent the entire time he had been gone in a depressed slump. 

It was the little things.

The shower stopped after a few minutes, and Ryan turned towards the door, the smile sliding back on his face. When had the idea of seeing Ray started being a reward after an exhausting job? Did he even know the exact moment, besides probably sometime after he'd finally stopped seeing him as true threat? What did it matter really, except someone like him shouldn't enjoy something as nice as Ray's company. But he was selfish ‒ he would take it.

Ray stepped through the door with only a towel around his waist. He didn't seem to notice Ryan, but he wasn't wearing his glasses, so it wasn’t surprising. He didn't even pause to get dressed, just flopped onto the bed, not even aiming for his own side. One arm swiped out and hooked Ryan’s pillow, pulling it over and under his head. He pressed his face into it and sighed, muffled by the fabric.

Ryan frowned. That wasn’t a good sigh. He could see that Ray hadn’t even really towelled off. There were drops of water still clinging to his skin. His hair was soaked, and he was making no movements to dry off or get under the blankets. Like he didn't care, or didn't care enough to do something about it. Damn.

Very carefully, Ryan leaned across the bed, letting his hand settle on Ray’s folded elbow. The younger man didn't react to his touch, no startled jump or movement, except for a small noise of acknowledgement. When he gently rubbed the wet skin with his thumb, Ray finally turned his head. He cracked his eye open, squinting in Ryan’s direction. 

“When’d you get back?” he asked raspily. Ryan raised his hand, holding up five fingers, before flattening it out and waffeling it back and forth. _About five minutes_. Ray understood, of course, hmm-ing in acknowledgement and smushing his face back down onto the pillow. He didn’t say or do anything else, but Ryan could see the difference in the slight slump of his shoulders. He didn't say it, but Ray was glad he was back.

Ryan didn’t know what to do. No, that was a lie; he knew exactly what he _wanted_ to do. He wanted to crawl up the bed to settle over Ray, turn him over gently so he could lean down and kiss him, part his legs and rest all of his weight on him, finally do what he'd been wanting for weeks. God, he'd thought it so many times, Ray wouldn't even try to push him off, he knew it, he could have Ray all to himself until he finally moved him to reacting. Until he finally pushed enough life and energy into Ray that he would kiss back.

But he might not.

And Ryan could not allow himself to do that. He shoved those thoughts away guiltily. He couldn't think about that now, not when Ray was like this. Clearly things were worse than he'd thought, so he had to do what he could to help.

Ryan squeezed his elbow and stood up. He entered the bathroom, not for his own shower, but to grab another towel from the set of three he'd bought to supplement the singular threadbare towel Ray had already owned. He came back and carefully sat next to the young man on the bed. Starting at his legs, he rubbed the fabric over his skin, toweling him dry. He didn't linger on the upper thighs, and kept his thoughts from there as well, moving up to Ray's sides and ribcage.

Ray made another noise, which sounded positive, or maybe just confused. Ryan rubbed the towel over his spine, feeling each knobby bump under his fingers. He'd make something filling tonight. Something quick too, and warm. Did they have eggs left? Anything with meat? If Ray had eaten as much as he hoped then the fridge would be empty, he'd have to order some things, but that didn't matter, he could throw in a few treats that way...

When he got to his shoulders, Ray finally moved, getting his arms under his body to push himself up. Ryan noticed the shaking of his limbs and offered his hand. Ray took it with a sigh, letting himself be pulled upright so they were facing each other. He wasn't really looking at him, eyes half-closed and down. No trace of the smile, even if his entire body was tilted in Ryan’s direction, like he was pulled like a magnet.

Ryan didn't push him, just focused on drying his hair. It was getting long ‒ he wondered if Ray would eventually find the will to buzz it short, or if one day he'd have to share his hoard of hair ties with him. That thought made him smile, and he wished he could share it with Ray.

“I thought…” Ray started, then trailed off. Ryan rubbed the towel across the thin column of his neck and waited. “I thought showers were supposed to make you feel better. It did, you know, before, but…” He trailed off again with a shrug. _But he still felt like shit._

Ryan nodded understanding, carefully using the corner of the towel to dry his ears. Ray didn't usually offer excuses for when he was feeling less than stellar ‒ Ryan was sure he'd run out of reasons too quickly to bother. But was he trying to say he'd felt better after other showers, like the many times Ryan had dragged him out of bed and into the tiny bathroom? Was he trying to say that he'd tried, he'd done what he could but it didn't matter because he still didn't feel better? But he'd tried?

Ray moaned, like he was hurt, and Ryan's attention was pulled back to him. Ray looked exhausted, he realized. There were dark marks under his eyes that hadn't been there when he left, and he looked like he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. Ryan couldn't stop himself ‒ he brought his hand up, cupping Ray's face gently. Very carefully, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the deep smudges, like he could clean them away, and gently tapped them. When Ray looked up, Ryan raised his eyebrow.

Ray answered the unspoken question. “Haven't slept for shit since you left,” he tiredly admitted.

Ryan bit his lip. That was getting too close (too dangerous) to something more than whatever tentative _thing_ they had. Ryan's work patterns and absences _shouldn't_ be affecting Ray’s sleeping habits, but they were, and that meant something. Did it simply mean Ray was accustomed to his presence and the lack of it meant he was thrown off? Or…that Ray liked having him around, more than just as a roommate? All things considered the latter seemed likely, but to what extent? 

Ray's eyes fluttered closed, and Ryan had to stop the sharp lurch in his heart from spurning him into action. _Not fucking now._ He restrained himself to stroking his hand across Ray's stubbly cheek before rising to his feet. He didn't miss the way Ray swayed towards him, like his support had dropped. Ryan found the discarded hoodie and sweatpants Ray had obviously worn before the shower, and after a glance towards the pile of dirty clothes, decided his chances of finding ones that were actually clean were pretty slim. 

Thank God Ray didn't need his help getting dressed. Ryan knew he would only be a hindrance there. He pulled the blankets back to let Ray slump to the side so he was laying down again. He pulled the blankets back up over him, very much _not_ tucking him in. Hopefully Ray could sleep while he showered and figured out the food situation. He needed it.

“You're not leaving again, are you?” Ray asked when he turned away. His eyes were already closed, voice nonchalant, like he was completely relaxed. But Ryan could see right through that. He didn't lean down to give Ray an assuring kiss, like he really wanted to, but he did go back over to give his hand an assuring squeeze. And there was the smile. That meant he was okay.

Ryan showered as quickly as he could, all his thoughts focused on the other room. It couldn't continue, their situation ‒ he knew it, and Ray had to know it too, somewhere deep down. He had to, if he used to be who he had been. Someone like Ryan shouldn't have someone like Ray in his life in the way that he was. The world was not so generous. This was the sort of situation that could implode, messily, destroying themselves or their lives.

And like a fucking idiot, Ryan had accepted that. Instead of preparing for the inevitable fallout, he couldn't stop thinking of ways to keep them together. Because he couldn't lose Ray.

Which meant more than taking care of him. He'd learned well enough what little things made Ray feel better, so he had to implement those, as often as possible. And if his presence was one of those things, then dammit, that meant he would stick around. At least, that's what he thought Ray had meant when he asked if he was leaving again. Why would he ask if he wasn't worried about that?

That would mean fewer jobs that took him away for long, or…taking him along. He had handled himself well during the dead-end job call, and certainly if what he had found online was correct, he was a good shot to say the least. It was a risk, God was it a risk, but he couldn't leave Ray alone (unless he wanted to be left alone, unless he wanted nothing to do with scum like him). It was simply a matter of getting him out again, having the energy to actually _want_ to, and want to stay together.

Ray was fast asleep when he came back to the room. Ryan dressed in his own sweatpants and shirt silently, trying not to wake him. He could rest for a few hours, like he needed to, and Ryan could focus on the kitchen. But the bed looked so inviting, especially since the air conditioning had gone from ‘refreshing’ to ‘chilly’ now that he was showered. The space next to Ray, his space, was calling to him like a siren, and he'd never been good at holding himself back. 

Ryan crawled up from the end of the bed, settling next to Ray. His body was warm, curling in his direction like he knew, even in sleep, that Ryan was there. He would forever be grateful for the fit of frustration that had let to him stabbing his mattress, ruining it so he had no choice to sleep in Ray's bed. And Ray's lack of questioning why he hadn't bought a replacement yet.

At least his time relaxing would not be idle. Ryan leaned across Ray, careful not to nudge him, to grab his phone, and returned to the tabs he had open. Medical notes about depression, anxiety, trauma. And pages and pages of ways to treat said afflictions.

If Ray couldn't get better on his own, then Ryan would do what he could to help.

Hours passed before Ray woke. He jolted awake suddenly, his form stiffening on the other side of the bed. Ryan stretched his hand out to rest on his shoulder, like it was perfectly normal, like nothing was wrong. At the just that touch, Ray softened with a relieved sigh, slumping back into his relaxed pose. Ryan bit back the rush of warmth in his chest at that.

After a minute, he rolled over to squint at Ryan. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, but nothing like it had been hours ago. “You come here often?” he joked, already sounding like his usual self. Or at least what Ryan thought was his usual self. Ryan had no basis to compare to, but it was the tone he associated with Ray being in a positive mood.

Ryan smiled, large enough to be seen, and was pleased to get one in return. That was much better. Carefully climbing over Ray, he left the room to go to the kitchen, to finally get an idea of what he could make that was filling and healthy-ish. Or at least something that would tempt Ray into eating. 

Vegetables? Out, they were past freshness and Ray didn't like frozen (he couldn't blame him for that). Meat? None in the fridge. Soup? Not enough ingredients for what he wanted. Freezer? Ah, there were frozen potato chunks. A bag of cheese. And he knew there were chopped up bits of bacon he had hidden underneath a bag of peas, to stop Ray from eating all of it. It wouldn’t be a perfect hash, at the end of the day, but it was damn good enough.

“Oh my God,” Ray muttered, glasses finally in place so he could stare him down as he entered their bedroom with the finished product. “What is that?” Ryan didn't bother to answer, simply handing him both bowls so he could detour to the end of the bed to grab the laptop. A few nights ago he had come across someone on the dark web who had access to HD movies that were still in theaters, and had kept that option tucked away for one of Ray’s bad days.

A very pornographic moan came from behind him. Grinning, Ryan turned to find Ray already with his mouth full, eyes closed in bliss. “This is amazing,” he mumbled, potato spilling out of his mouth. Ryan rolled his eyes, feeling stupidly pleased, and hauled himself and the laptop up to the head of the bed. Ray arranged himself at his side so he could see, leaning up against him. A familiar and comfortable position.

Ray finally handed his own bowl over, after he had picked some of the cheese off the top, and started back into his own bowl with a grin. They ate as the movie began with a burst of action, and when they were both done, Ray took the bowls to put them aside, and then he came right back, pressing right to Ryan’s side, closer than he would be if he simply wanted to see. Like any good movie date, Ryan wrapped his arm around his shoulder, pulling him in tightly. Ray let himself be pulled in with a happy sigh. He still looked tired, and his hair was a mess from being dried and slept-in, but there was a content look on his face. 

That was enough for Ryan. It didn’t matter what he wanted. What mattered was Ray.


	2. Hold Me Tight (Or Don't)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard y'all liked Ryan's POV so I wrote MORE!
> 
> Title Inspiration: _Hold Me Tight (Or Don't)_ by Fall Out Boy

“Perfect. Amazing. Wonderful. Beautiful, stunning, incredible ‒”

It didn't matter what words he was saying, not as he said them against Ray's lips, over and over. Nothing mattered except the heat, the body under his, the way Ray smiled up at him, arching and flexing with every word and movement. It was the truths he couldn’t help but spill out in an endless stream, so Ray could _finally_ know how he felt. Everything was a delightful blur of sensation he couldn't focus on for long before he was pulled back to Ray's waiting lips, the perfection, the warm flow of feelings through both of them.

“Amazing,” he said again into the column of his neck. He knew he was repeating himself, but it needed repeating, because he could. “Impossibly perfect, incredibly wonderful…” Ray was laughing, he could feel his chest moving under his but that was good, that was right, everything was the way it should be, the two of them, together, Ray's happiness as palpable as his own.

Ryan kept going, trailing his lips down his neck, mouthing over his collarbone. Ray shivered, gasping his name like it was precious on his lips. If he had his way that would be all Ray would be capable of saying, over and over. Ryan smiled at the sound, drunk on sensations and the perfect body under his. Something sharp brushed against his bottom lip, and he lifted his head to look.

A raised incision of flesh, bound up in harsh black thread. Dull horror flooded his veins as the sight registered. Ryan followed it with his eyes, angling down his chest, where it forked at his sternum. Another cut led up to his other collarbone, the other led down, over his stomach, where it met another line. An open gaping gash across his lower stomach, fresh and red and accusing.

Ryan couldn't breathe. Tightness was growing in his chest and his head, ringing through his ears. That cut. That was his cut. On Ray. Panic surged as he tore his eyes away, flying to Ray's face. There was no smile. His face was blank and shocked, the look of death, the light gone from his eyes. Forever.

Breath heaving, words spilled from his throat as Ryan begged, pleaded, trying to say anything so that it wasn't really happening. His hands reached for Ray's face, but they were already red with blood. Ryan reared back, harsh noises tearing from his throat. His shoulder hit something hard and cold, there was something else wrapped around his hips, it was so dark, but he could still see Ray, dead because of _him_ , and he couldn't do anything‒

Ryan's shoulder hit the wall again, and that was the wall, and there was no Ray under him. He was to the side, eyes closed, covered head to toe in blankets. Ryan stared at him, breathing hard into the cold dark of the bedroom. His eyes kept jerking back to the space in front of him, but there was no corpse there. No blood. No death.

No…

He swallowed hard, brain refusing to accept what he was seeing. Shaking, one hand sunk down, half convinced it would touch the body he'd been so sure was there. There was only mattress under his hand. Carefully, the other reached out, brushing past the layers of fabric. The skin of Ray's neck was warm against his fingertips, lightly rising and falling as he breathed. A sickening surge of relief flooded through Ryan, so much he gasped again, shakily. He wasn't dead. He was fine.

Ryan slumped against the bone-cold wall, one hand covering his mouth so his heavy breaths wouldn't wake Ray. No relief was there to welcome him as the panic faded. The fear returned to the hard point in his chest, so the frustration and guilt had room to grow. 

He couldn't even enjoy his dreams (shouldn’t be dreaming about Ray like that in the first place) without the horror coming back, like it did _every damn time_ he thought things were going well. Every time it came back, the paranoia come with it, driving him away from whatever brought it on. 

Because how could he be safe if it was there in his dreams? 

But the weight to his side was holding him down, making everything skid sideways. He couldn't leave Ray. That was the absolute, the unthinkable (don't think it), the constant. There was no path away without Ray, only stretching darkness he couldn't see through, couldn't imagine going down. There was nothing worth considering without him.

Ryan let out a frustrated groan into his hand. He couldn't even swear anymore, not even when he really felt like it. He forced the air through his teeth, over and over, trying again. _F_. He dropped of his jaw for a short sharp exhale. _U_. Then the tongue to the back palate for the muted click of the last sound, the hardest one to make, the one that never wanted to come out, sticking in his throat. _CK_. Hiss, huff, click. Hiss, huff, click. Quietly into the palm of his hand.

Not even a word. Just sounds, not even enough to call it an imitation. Instead of the relief from swearing there was only more frustration. Ryan squirmed to the end of the bed to escape to the bathroom, feeling like he could never sleep again. He knew the signs for a sleepless night by now.

He could keep going. Out the door, into the night, only taking the bag by the door and his laptop. Hell, he didn't even need those, he'd run before with less; he'd survive. Where he would go didn't matter. He had no plan, couldn't think of what he would do next except get away.

He was called the Vagabond for a reason.

Ray… wouldn't come looking for him. He'd stay and never leave, waiting for Ryan to come back. But he never would.

Ryan swallowed the sick taste in his mouth down with some water from the tap. His razor and toothbrush had their places on the counter, Ray's so infrequently used they were nowhere to be found. Not a single sign that someone lived there but Ryan. No one would even know he was there until someone noticed the smell. Just another morbid statistic for a world that didn't care. 

He hated those thoughts. Hated that he was the one thinking them, hated the ideas they led to. Hated that his own damn mind wouldn't let him have nice things (because he didn't deserve nice things) when he really needed them. 

Ryan stared at the mirror, at someone he didn't recognize. It wasn't the Ryan growing up knowing he'd go to college, thinking he'd settle down with a nice girl someday. Instead he was something Hell had created and spat out in the world again, trying to do one nice thing and keep someone else alive. And he couldn't even do that right.

The call from the door was strong. Standing at the threshold of the bedroom, Ryan could see through the dim light that Ray was still asleep, but had turned, so he was facing the door and Ryan. Waiting for him to come back.

_Just one nice thing._

Ryan crawled back to his space, laying down facing Ray's back. _Just once_. One hand trailed over his side, above the hoodie, settling on his lower stomach. Where blood would wet the fabric under his hand unless he didn't let that happen. 

Maybe Ray wouldn't wait. Maybe he'd go out after him, demand to go with or be taken back. Come after Ryan with the same single-minded focus Ryan felt on his jobs. The absolute certainty that he would succeed.

He closed his eyes, resting his head behind Ray's. Just once, just for a little bit. Ray was warm under his arm, perfectly peaceful in sleep. He wouldn't know, not if Ryan woke up first. Just once, he needed it, just for a little bit…

~*~

The rattle of the desk drawer flooded his awareness, followed swiftly by the knowledge that he had been asleep _exactly where he shouldn't be_. Ryan's hand flew from its resting place against Ray's stomach (red and wet searing pain **no** ) to grab the buzzing menace from the nightstand, propelling himself away from the warm divot in the bed behind Ray. Fuck, was he awake? (Had to be.) If he was still asleep, he could get away without having to look him in the eye.

Ryan answered the text without thinking. It was a job, one that would take him away for days. Another job he might not come back from. Ryan swiped at his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He couldn't think like that, couldn't think about what the other person in bed could be thinking. 

He had to focus on the job.

He got dressed, trying not to feel guilty. It wasn't like it was a one-night stand he was trying to get away from, it wasn't like Ray would hate him for it… unless he'd read the signs wrong. And when had he ever been right assuming things about Ray?

 _Just get dressed and leave,_ he demanded to himself. Get out while you still can. Swiftly and silently, already focusing on the job ahead, he dressed in the basics. Now he just needed the smartphone, his actual phone, from the nightstand (did he really? It was the only number Ray had). It was too close to the bed, as he took it Ryan couldn't help but glance down at the bundle on the bed.

Ray was wide awake, watching. Ryan froze, fear gripping his throat. If he asked, if he lashed out, if the moment was ruined he'd‒ 

Ray's fingers stuck out from a fold. He smiled _that fucking smile_ and waved. The fear melted away. The dark path melted away, leaving a path right back to that space in the bed. Ryan smiled back, just as softly, and closed the door.


	3. Last Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit was originally part of Part 3 but was cut and Christmas-ized
> 
> Title Inspiration: _Last Christmas_ covered by pretty much every singer ever

“ _What the fuck are we doing?_ ” Ray hissed for what felt like the fifth time, careful that their “host” didn’t hear them. Ryan didn't answer, just squeezing his hand tightly. The pleasant smile on his face was borderline gleeful, but in a sneaky way which meant _something_ was up. 

Their host was showing them the jacuzzi ( _jacuzzi!_ ) on the deck and was going on and on about shit that neither of them were really paying attention to. Ray was sure Ryan was checking and double-checking the exits and eyeing up the oblivious host to make sure he wasn’t really about to pull some shit. Ray was just thinking for the thousandth time that _whatever_ it was they were up to was way too risky to actually be doing. They could be tracked, their credit card could be flagged as stolen, _something_ could go wrong. And Ryan hadn’t even told him yet _why_ exactly they were there.

Ray knew the fake answer: he and Ryan were apparently hipster boyfriends from Brooklyn who were enjoying the long weekend in the rural mountains of some nearly-Southern state. Ray had laughed his fucking ass off at the idea, but somehow they had ended up there, with Ryan wearing too much flannel to be allowed and Ray looking his best tech-nerd-ish. The reason _why_ , he was still unclear about.

He couldn't believe they were pulling it off so well. The PDA was limited to hand holding, but somehow the gay vibes were more than enough to keep their host from prying. Ray was bullshitting his ass off about some fake startup he was supposedly the inventor of, and the guy showing them around was clearly politely interested. Ryan frequently launched into a flurry of hand movements Ray couldn't follow, so he just made stuff up to translate and the host was none the wiser.

Civilians were fucking stupid.

Finally the guy left them alone, in some strange too-nice house they should absolutely not be trusted in. Ray immediately turned to Ryan, dropping the nice boyfriend act with a cross of his arms. “Okay, spill,” he demanded. “The fuck are we doing here, dude?”

Ryan's grin just became bigger as he typed the answer on his phone.

**Merry Christmas**

_What?_ “What?” Ray asked dumbly. Back the fuck up, was that actually a thing Ryan expected to celebrate? Something he hadn't given two shits about since he was six? The bullshit that had only soured for him, year after year, that he tried to ignore every time it was shoved in his face? And how it had just gotten worse over time, the feelings of loneliness and inadequacy that doubled when other people were out spreading joy and shit? It was literally the worst time of year for him, and Ryan wanted them in red and green and shitting snowflakes?

Thankfully Ryan didn't seem aware of the downward spiral of his thoughts. That fucking smile was still there. **I haven't had anyone to celebrate with for a long time. Thought we'd take a few days off and enjoy it**

Oh fuck. Ray sighed, that gooey piece in this chest that was just for Ryan softening. Fucking hell, the dude was serious, and Ray would have to be the worst shit in the world to not give in. He stepped up to Ryan, arms going around his middle as the other guy's arms went around his shoulders with a squeeze. Ryan wanted Christmas cheer, and for him, Ray would shove a candy cane up his ass and call himself an elf.

“I totally don't have you a present,” Ray regretfully muttered against the flannel. He could honestly say that the idea was the last thing on his mind, and he felt a little bad about it. Ryan just shrugged, typed something, and held the phone for him to see.

**I don't need anything. I have you**

Ray was pretty sure his heart grew three sizes. “That's disgusting,” he informed Ryan. “Are we in some sappy holiday movie now?” He turned his head, keeping his cheek pressed to Ryan’s nice firm chest, pretending to scan the room for cameras. “Is this the part where we kiss cinematically while the Christmas music plays?”

Ryan’s laughed, making warmth slide down Ray’s spine. Fuck the bastard. Even though there wasn't a handy orchestra, Ray still arched up to kiss him. He wouldn't call it magical or enchanting, but only because he didn't say shit like that. It still felt fantastic. 

“Also, totally don’t have swim trunks.” Ray said off-handedly. Like that was the biggest tragedy in the world. The implication was there, and Ryan pulled back so Ray could see the suggestive eye wink. Oh, he got it.

Ray couldn't shake the unease as he followed Ryan to the master suite with their bags. He'd never really done “Christmas” before ‒ he had some vague memories of brightly wrapped presents and more cookies than he could ever consume. But that was all overshadowed by the years he'd been on the streets, bitter and cold while everyone else enjoyed themselves. People always got so _insufferable_ and fake generous around that time of year. Like...good for them, Ray got their pocket change and some shit soup and they got their warm fuzzy for the year. It burnt remembering being other people's charity case when they ignored him the rest of the year.

Then it had just become another day, slightly shittier than the others, but a good opportunity to take advantage of people being willfully oblivious to the bad parts of society. 

If he had a dollar for every Christmas party he'd ruined with just the perfect shot…

Ray's train of thought abruptly crashed when he realized something very crucial. Or rather _someone_ very crucial was stripping right in front of him. Ray froze, mouth half open, as Ryan dropped the flannel and pulled off the stupid tight t-shirt under it, revealing that fucking perfect chest. Like he was totally not aware of Ray watching, Ryan undid and dropped his pants with a shake of his hips, and the underwear followed. Ray swallowed his suddenly dry throat as Ryan walked ‒ strutted ‒ to the door leading to the deck and hot tub. He paused only a second, framed by the door as a guest of cold wind hit Ray in the face. Just long enough to send a smile over his shoulder before going out.

Fucker was going to be the death of him. The invitation was clear, and he'd be an idiot to not take it.

Without an audience, Ray stripped a little more slowly. It wasn't that he was uneasy about being naked around Ryan ‒ they'd fucked, for fucks sake ‒ it was just that he didn't go out of his way to show off his shitty body, even to someone who had seen the worst of him. He wasn't like Ryan ‒ there wasn't enough body fat or muscles to even come close to what he was. Besides, it was cold outside, snowflakes just beginning to fall, and Ryan had forgotten a towel. So that was his excuse in wrapping about three around different parts of his body before going out.

Ryan was already in the tub and relaxing, steam wafting enticingly around his head. Like he had a right to look that good. The gaze he was giving Ray was even more romance-novel-cover-y than usual. Ray knew he was blushing, and his dick was definitely getting interested despite his thoughts. But any plan of looking sexy while getting in the tub fled when the cold air hit him when the towels came off. 

“Holy _fuck_!” How did people willingly live in that kind of cold? Shivers broke out everywhere as his breath left his lungs in a harsh gasp. Fuck that shit, he needed in the tub fucking immediately. 

“Ohh,” Ray sighed at the first touch of delicious warmth. He sunk in further, all the way up to his chin, eyes closed in bliss. “Oh, I live here now. This is my new home, I’m never leaving this tub. Bring me people you want me to shoot, I’ll snipe them from here.”

Ryan chuckled from the other side of the tub, and it didn't sound as bad as it usually did. Ray wondered if the steam was maybe helping somewhat when he felt the water move around him. Like there was something much larger taking up space in front of him. He casually parted his legs, and felt Ryan move closer, so his sides were delightfully brushing against his thighs.

“Can I help you?” Ray asked, lazily cracking one eye open. Oh, that wasn't fair, Ryan wet and dripping, looking down at him _like that_. There should be a law against it, except the two of them never really cared about legalities anyway.

One of Ryan's hands emerged from the water, running up the back of Ray's neck, spreading the warmth up his cranium. Ray shivered and tilted his head back, just the right angle for Ryan to dip down and kiss him. It was slow, deep, Ryan's tongue sliding into his mouth, sending fire loose in his chest that spread to his limbs. Deeply overwhelming in the best way. Ray tried to kiss back just as strong, just like every one of Ryan's kisses that he didn't deserve. Under the water his legs lifted to twine around Ryan's, drawing him closer so the kiss could get deeper, so Ryan could made that low noise in his throat that raised goosebumps on his skin.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Ryan wouldn't make things terrible, it was impossible for things to be bad with Ryan in charge. He could enjoy the holiday, for once, like _properly_ enjoy it for maybe the first time ever. And it was all on the right track with the kisses and the feelings coming from kissing Ryan. Ray felt like he was barely staying afloat, the heavy sensation in his limbs wanting to drag him down, but the hand on his neck, cupping his skull, kept him up as Ryan wrapped an arm around his middle, pressing him up into his body. It was perfect, exactly perfect, just like what he'd wanted ever since the guy had burst into his life.

When Ryan pulled away Ray gasped like he could barely breathe. His face felt wet, and he thought it was just moisture from the tub, but then Ryan's hand gently cupped his face, rubbing his thumb under his eye. He cracked it open, saw the worry on Ryan's face, and realized he was crying.

“Shit,” Ray hissed, swiping at his face with a wet hand. It didn't help, his eyes just started stinging. “Its fine. I'm fine.” Fucking hell, now he was crying during kissing and Ryan was looking beyond concerned as he tried to pull away from Ray.

“No no no, get back here,” Ray insisted, clinging with his legs around Ryan's hips. That halted him, but he didn't get any closer. Damn. “I'm not crying cause you're a shitty kisser, I swear.” He tried to joke, but the look didn't budge from Ryan's face. Ray sighed, dropping his legs and sinking low in the water again. Drowning didn't seem like a bad idea ‒ at least he'd be warm.

“If I promise to do the talking thing later, can we get back to the kissing?” It was selfish, but he already wanted Ryan back near him, wanted to go back to what they were doing. Talking would only ruin the mood, and who knew how many chances he'd get to fuck in a hot tub? He couldn't waste it just because he was feeling an emotion.

Ray thought Ryan would refuse, but instead he slid back into place, skin sliding alongside his. He still looked concerned, but he went back to kissing him, starting gently before it finally deepened again. Ray pulled him back closer, rubbing his hand down his chest under the water. He avoided the scar, bypassing it to run his fingers along the lines of his hips. He hoped he could get the mood back, and the shift of Ryan's hips seemed to indicate so. When Ray finally dropped his hand lower, gently searching, he was happy to find the solid warmth of Ryan's dick, still very interested in proceedings.

Ryan pulled away from the kiss slowly, letting his lips linger. Ray wanted to get back to the closeness, the overwhelming goodness, but he could tell Ryan was still hesitant. That eyebrow frown was there. Ray stared up at him, wanting to knock that frown off his stupid pretty face. And he knew how to do _that_ really well.

“Unless you want me to drown, you should get up on the edge.” Ryan's eyebrows furrowed, then abruptly jumped. Oh yeah, he got it. Ray's hands on his chest urged him back until Ryan's back hit the side if the tub, and with a fantastic display of muscles Ryan lifted himself so he could perch on the edge. Keeping most of his body submerged, Ray watched with admiration at the way the water dripped down his chest, how his nipples perked up at the cold, his steam was rising off his skin. Ray wanted to eat him up.

Ray felt his particular dick-sucking grin appear on his face. One of his favorite fucking things to do, and for a guy like Ryan, he wanted to make it really special. Ryan's eyes never left his face, and he already had that concussed brains-sucked-out look, even though Ray hadn't even gotten started. But there was no time like the present as Ray slid his hands up his thighs, parting them so he could get into place.

One hand steadied the shaft as Ray licked at the head, letting his tongue do all the work swiping up all the moisture available. Ryan's breath was hissing through his teeth, hips twitching up like that would make any difference. Ray took his damn time, running his tongue up and down, never lingering for long or getting him any closer to getting off. Ryan's hands were flexing where they were clinging to the sides, but didn't reach for Ray's head to get him going. Not yet anyway.

Sucking a deep breath, Ray took the head into his mouth, tightening his lips as he sank low and back up. That got a reaction, a full-bodied shudder he hoped was because of the blow job, not the cold. Ray kept his hand moving as he focused on the dick in his mouth, trying to mentally suppress the urge to gag as he swiftly began moving his head. Up and down, letting himself get lost in the rhythm and the feeling of Ryan in his mouth, tongue pressing firmly to the vein on the bottom with every movement.

Ryan was losing his cool, arching his back as his legs shifted in the water. Just to be an asshole, Ray looked up at him through his eyelashes, because he _knew_ what kind of a reaction that would get. Ryan caught his eye and almost choked on his breath. It never failed. Ryan's hand finally left its iron grip on the side to fist in his hair, just the right kind of rough. That was what he'd been waiting for.

Ray sank lower, relaxing his jaw to take in more of Ryan's dick. He sucked, just the right amount of pressure, just the exact twist of his wrist. It had Ryan throwing his head back and groaning, hips moving however they could. Ray didn't let up, he knew what he wanted and what he was doing. He kept his gaze up, wordlessly daring Ryan to keep his eyes on him. The look on his face was a fantastic mix of amazement and mind-blowing pleasure, which just made Ray feel even better. One last deep thrust down, tightening his throat to hum and...that did it. Ryan came hot in his mouth, and Ray didn't pull off until Ryan was wincing and trying to edge back. Job _very_ well done.

He knew there was no way Ryan was going to leave it there, and he was right. Ryan slipped back into the water, an intense look replacing the one of blissed out pleasure on his face. One hand grabbed him by the back of the neck again, pulling him into a searing kiss. The other hand was relentless as it got around his dick, moving roughly under the water. Ray only had a second to gasp Ryan's name before he was coming too, so hard his knees went weak and he almost fell in the water again. That was one of the best he'd ever gotten, and he knew it was because of what he had with Ryan.

Like a fucking gentleman, Ryan got out first and held the towel open for him, so he didn't have to suffer the cold for long. Ray gratefully let himself be wrapped up and pulled back into the warm bedroom. He needed no urging to get into the giant comfy bed, complete with a throne of pillows. Probably the best Christmas present he could have gotten. 

Covered in blankets, Ray watched Ryan mess around with the fireplace. No surprise, the guy was good at starting fires, even small tame ones. Ray really wished he could take a photo on his phone of Ryan, illuminated by the fire sending a red glow over his skin. It was too risky, but _damn_ it would be good jack-off material.

Ryan slid into bed behind him, slotting nicely into big spoon position. Ray sighed, slumping in his arms, feeling warm and content in the best way. Merry fucking Christmas to him.

Behind him, he could hear Ryan's hand slapping the nightstand for his phone. Oh yeah.

**Now will you tell me what's up?**

“It's just…” Ray shrugged, not even knowing where to start. “Kinda been a shit time of year for me, for a while. Like...you know, everyone gets all holier-than-thou and charitable up until the day of, and then they go right back to fucking you over. And, I don't know, I haven't really been able to enjoy it for the last few years, cause it's a shit time to go along with my shit life.” God, was it. Seeing other people's cheer when his own where nowhere to be found fucking sucked.

Under the covers, Ray's hand found Ryan's and held it. “But the last few months with you have been the fucking best, and...I figured Christmas with you would be better than anything else ever, and I'm kinda right. This is awesome.” Ray wiggled in Ryan's arms, scooting closer. “So I guess...I'm just happy I'm here, not where I was last year.”

Ray's rambling cut off when he heard a sniff behind him. “Ryan?” he asked carefully. Ryan just buried his face in his neck and held him harder. Ray could feel wetness on his neck. “Dammit, man, can we try to keep from both being emotional at the same time?” Ray begged, throat tight. Ryan shook his head, gasping out a laugh before reaching for his phone.

 **I didn't ever think I'd ever have someone to be with ever again. Much less someone who gets me like you do** His fingers were more fumbly than usual. **I'm really glad you're here**

“Me too,” Ray whispered, throat tight. If anyone had told him last Christmas he'd be in the bed of the world's most dangerous merc, fucking happy and content in life, he'd have laughed and shot them in the head. It was fucking impossible, but somehow it had happened.


	4. Smooth Criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate POV of a scene from Borderline Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Inspiration: _Smooth Criminal_ by Michael Jackson

Ryan was inherently suspicious of everything. It just happened. A natural evolution that came with the industry, some instinct that developed to keep him safe. Perhaps he was more distrustful than most, given all he was trying to hide. He'd learned the hard way to be careful. 

So when Jack motioned him over to the quieter corner of the living room, out of earshot of the others, he was fully expecting to be stabbed or something. Even if she was the more trustworthy of the lot, she didn't have his full leniency yet.

“Okay, look,” Jack said quickly, eyes over his shoulder, watching the rest of the room. “I know it's totally none of my business, you guys have your thing going on and that's okay, whatever. But…” Ryan waited impatiently as she scanned over his shoulder again. Something worrying was on her face, and the deep distrust buried in his chest threatened to rise again. They'd just gotten back, if the crew was going to betray them couldn't they at least have had the decency to do it earlier? 

“Something's up with Ray.” Jack's voice was quiet, and her eyes, when she met his, were worried. “We were just talking earlier, then all of a sudden he got real quiet and looked like he was freaking out over something.” 

Shit. Ryan swallowed and looked over his shoulder. Ray was very-not-subtly watching him, and when Ryan tried to meet his eyes he abruptly became very interested in the nachos in front of him. He'd noticed, earlier, the missing grin and usual levity while gaming, the way he hadn't totally relaxed against his side. Ryan knew, deep in his chest where all of his Ray-related instincts lay, those were some of the beginning indications of a _bad day_ , but he hadn't realized Jack was able to pick up on them as well.

“I'm sorry.” Jack’s quiet words drew his attention back to her. “I think...I was joking about something I shouldn't have, and he took it the wrong way. I'm sorry, I was just trying to get him to relax.” She sighed, looking genuinely remorseful, and Ryan reminded himself how perceptive she was, how out of all of them she seemed to have the best indication about what was going on between him and Ray. And how dangerous that was.

 _They're friends_ , he reminded himself for the thousandth time. _They just care about him_. It wasn't like he was the only one who could worry about Ray ‒ anyone who saw his diet would worry about him. But it wasn't just that, it was his mental health too, and if Jack was saying there was something wrong then she had a right to be worried.

Ryan shook his head, like he was dismissing the conversation, before turning his back on her and heading over to Ray. His boyfriend-partner-whatever the fuck they were was very determinedly avoiding his eye, rather than coming out and admitting what was wrong. Which could be chalked up to them being amongst company, but could also be his attempt at hiding his feelings. Again.

“It's fine,” Ray blurted, sounding in every possible way not-fine. “I'll tell you later, it's fine.” He was very much avoiding his gaze, nervous around him in a way he hadn't been since the beginning. Ryan hated it, wanted to haul him in for a hug and not let go until he knew what was bothering him. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Even without Jack's warning, Ryan would have known something was wrong with Ray. The jokes were just a second too late, the focus not entirely there as they played round after round. Ryan made sure to press their shoulders together firmly, the closest to an embrace he could manage among all the people. God, if he could just get them all out of the room (flash grenade? machine gun?) he could get the answer out of Ray, but that would be rude. He had to wait, and the wait was agony. 

For the sake of appearances, Ryan retired to his own room once everyone was done losing game after game to Ray. When he tried to catch his eye, Ray evaded his look, and he didn't appear after Ryan waited an appropriate amount of time for him to show up. It seemed that Ray was declining to join him for the night.

Fuck that shit.

Ray was curled up in his own bed, looking very small and tired in that specific way that hurt Ryan's chest to see. God, he couldn't leave him alone looking like that, even though that was the vibe Ray was clearly radiating. Undeterred, Ryan climbed in with him, employing his favorite tactic of showing affection. Ray generally reacted positively to being embraced in a suffocating manner, it was the least he could do. He kissed the back of his head, so he would know, would understand that Ryan was there and would always be, no matter what. 

He wasn't even expecting a reaction, completely accepting if Ray was in the middle of his head and unable to verbalize it, but he felt the shaky inhale, the one that preceded talking. At least that was an open invitation to discuss what was troubling him.

“You don't‒” Ray's voice was quiet, but Ryan could hear the strain as he tried his best to word it out. “You can just be mad at me. I know I deserve it.”

Nothing could be further from the truth. Ryan wished, _really fucking wished_ , that he had the words to say, something, _anything_ that could assure his boyfriend or partner or whatever that he could just _talk_ to him, tell Ryan how he was feeling and how he could help. He wanted to help, wanted to do anything to convince Ray he wasn't mad. He'd never be mad at him over something like this.

He increased his hold, making sure Ray could feel the way he was being held. His actions could speak for themselves until he got his phone out.

**Tell me what I'm supposed to be mad about and I'll decide if I should be or not**

It was almost a joke, his words, in his own way of trying to lighten the mood. But Ray just sighed angrily after he read the text. “You know why. Cause I'm a fucking idiot who didn't even fucking notice his own anniversary‒”

What?

_What?!_

Ryan barely heard the rest of Ray's words, brain stuck on that one word. _Anniversary?_ Was it- no, it was months away, surely. Maybe. Fuck, he didn't know. Because seriously, he didn't even know how to define their relationship and Ray was talking about significant dates and oh fuck was he expecting something out of that?! Was that what he was thinking the trip was about, an elaborate set up leading to a romantic getaway, employing the Fakes to give an appropriate threat to give a legitimate reason to go?

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea.

Ray finally seemed to realize Ryan's mental thoughts were going haywire. He turned his head to finally meet his eye, and Ryan knew he could see the confusion there. “That was…that was our anniversary, right?” Now he sounded unsure. No shit, Ray. “That's why we were there?”

Bless him, he was a dumbass. Ray still looked confused even after Ryan shook his head no.

“But...but it's been a year, right?” 

Quickly Ryan typed an answer. **I don't even know when I moved in or what day counts as our anniversary but if that was going to be the reason for a vacation I would have told you**

The “Oh” of understanding from Ray was painfully sheepish. Ryan couldn't help chuckling as Ray slammed his head back down, obviously trying to hide his face. Fuck, that really said something about their relationship that Ray thought that was a possibility of a vacation Ryan had planned. Now he had ideas. Ray wouldn't be expecting something like that twice.

Ray squirmed as Ryan got his arms properly around him again. “So…” His excuse fell flat when Ryan couldn't stop laughing. He couldn't help it. “Shut up. Just forget I said anything.”

Of course he couldn't do that. Ryan kissed his neck, relieved it wasn't actually something serious, just a misunderstanding. It was all okay. Everything was washing through him in a warm wave, happiness, and affection, everything he never though he could feel again. Everything he wanted Ray to feel.

He had to tell him. It was past the point.

**You're a dumbass but i love you anyway**

He felt Ray tense after he read that, but Ryan kept kissing him, just like there was nothing wrong, like he hadn't just dropped that bombshell. He knew not to expect an answer, because it was Ray. He knew how he would and wouldn't react. Ryan gave him a few more kisses, just to prove his point, but Ray turned in his arms, effectively cutting off his assault of affection. That was fine. Ryan relaxed, keeping Ray in his arms, where he belonged. Everything was fine.

~*~

Everything was not fine.

Ryan knew there was something wrong as soon as he opened his eyes. Ray was awake, but hadn't gotten up, or made any attempt to pull him closer when he sat up in an attempt to keep him there. Normally he'd be trying to at least get a handjob.

Leaning down towards him, Ryan met Ray's eyes. There was so much tiredness, so much distance in them. Like there was nothing that could draw him out. Ryan sighed softly. One of those days.

Well, fuck it, he didn't feel like having a productive day anyway. Giving Ray's hair a quick assurance stroke, he extracted himself from the blankets and went to the bathroom. Ray needed to stay hydrated, needed to keep up on his dose of medication so he didn't crash further. After the stress and uncertainty of the previous day, Ray deserved a day off, but that didn't mean Ryan couldn't still take care of him.

Ray cooperated without argument, taking the pills and sipping the water as Ryan got back in bed with him. He considered texting Ramsey, giving him a heads up, but it was none of his business and he didn't feel like having the asshole poking around, making Ray feel worse.

Once the water was finished, and Ray laid back down, Ryan got into position, sliding his arms around him and pulling him close. He didn't even need to ask what to do, didn't need to question what Ray needed. Their closeness had completely removed the need to ask. It could almost be called satisfying, in a way, how taking care of Ray made him feel. If only it wasn't accompanied by Ray's misery. 

God, to think of all the nights he'd spent awake wanting to reach out, wanting to help Ray as he suffered in silence but before he'd gotten the balls to reach over and help. Pointless suffering really did sum up his life.

But he had Ray now, was there for him on even his worst days, and not a damn person could do a thing about it.

Ryan had almost fallen asleep again, lulled by the warmth and softness of Ray's body in his arms, when the horrible rattle of a phone on wood got his attention. Ray didn't move, but Ryan felt his eyes on him as he leaned over to retrieve the phone and investigate. 

An invite to a game from Jones. Ryan felt his mouth twist in a frown. He debated not showing Ray, but that would be rude, even if he knew what the answer would be.

Sure enough, Ray shook his head, curling up further under the blankets like he was trying to hide from the world. Ryan followed, because he needed to, because he could. He had to know.

**Do you want me to explain or not?**

He could see the pain on Ray's face as he replied. “Please don't. Not yet, okay?”

Of course it was okay. Ryan deleted the text and his message, finding an appropriate series of internet videos to waste the rest of the day watching. Mindless enjoyment, to keep his mind off things. He didn't know if that was a therapist-approved strategy of dealing with his issues, but fuck it, it worked for him sometimes, on the nights when things got too bad. And Ray seemed to enjoy it.

He had to give the Lads credit, they weren't giving up. He wondered if Ramsey knew about the texting, wondered how long they'd have before one of them tried to break down the door. That would be awkward, especially if Ryan was moved to retaliate. Which he certainly would. Just because the group didn't have boundaries didn't mean they couldn't keep theirs.

“I'm sorry I'm like this,” Ray whispered at one point, making Ryan snort. As if he didn't know about his depression in the first place, as if this was something new or significant he was springing on him. As if it had any affect on his feelings.

 **You don't have to apologize. I love you either way** he reminded him. Ray didn't answer except to hide his face away, but Ryan knew he got it. He'd shout it from the rooftops if he could, but he'd settle for texting it as often as possible.

He was fine spending the day in bed with Ray, but he was hungry, and that meant Ray was probably hungry, even if he wasn't feeling it. Reluctantly he removed himself from the warm space in the bed, already hating the cold and distance between them. Like a chunk carved out of his side in the exact shape of Ray. 

Something quick and easy to make, with minimal work needed to ingest. Nothing complicated, as much as he wanted to break out the breadcrumbs and make some warm comfort food, that could wait until they had their own solid place of residence again, for now he needed vitamins, sugars, energy to‒

“Mask!”

Fuck his entire asshole. Ryan shot Ray an alarmed look as he doubled back for his mask, snatching it up with shaking hands. That was the last fucking thing he'd need (It might make them forget about Ray's issues--but not for long,) for them to see his face. He didn't bother shoving much of his hair up, or for finding anything more intimidating than his sweatpants. If they doubted him he could just throw something sharp at them.

Ryan walked quickly down the hall to the kitchen, feeling each second he was away from Ray like a heavy weight. He knew nothing bad would feasibly happen in his absence, but…he wasn't about to risk anything.

The sounds of video games being played could be heard coming from the living room, and the cursing that accompanied said gaming. It wasn't ideal, he knew the Lads would ask questions about Ray, but they would have to deal with the disappointment. He didn't even glance their way, even though he heard a significant pause when he entered the room. It wasn't like they could force him to talk.

Ignoring the eyes he could feel watching him as he moved around the kitchen, Ryan checked the fridge first, pulling out yogurt and applesauce and milk. The freezer had random bags of frozen fruit, and he wasn't going to question the luck of finding such things. Bananas on the counter, and a blender. Perfect.

A quick muttered conversation led to Ramsey getting to his feet and approaching the other side of the counter. Ryan didn't even bother looking up, just focusing on emptying the single-serving yogurts and applesauces into the blender, using a spoon to get as much as he could. Ramsey hovered awkwardly as he broke the banana in half and dumped it in, followed by a hearty glug of milk. Finally, as Ryan ripped open the plastic bags of fruit, he cleared his throat.

Ryan raised his eyes to him, not bothering to move his head. It was the little creepy things that worked on Ramsey ‒ he was clearly unnerved getting that look, but was still standing firm.

“What's goin’ on with Ray?” he asked outright. Ryan didn't bother trying to answer, just dumped the strawberries and peaches into the blender. Damn, forgot ice. He tucked the bags closed and put them back in the freezer, grabbing the ice tray in the process. 

When he turned back, Ramsey had his hand over the opening of the blender, glaring like that would have any affect on him. Cute, but ineffective. Ryan detoured to the knife rack, pulling out the biggest knife with deliberate focus. Ramsey visibly paled, but held his ground.

“Look, you can threaten me all you want.” Despite his obvious nervousness, Ramsey's voice was firm. “But if there's something goin on with Ray, and you know something, I don't care how much of a murderous dick you are, I wanna know.” Ramsey's misplaced fury was almost impressive, enough to make Ryan think twice about stabbing him. “You can't scare me out of being worried about him.”

That made Ryan halt his steps. Ramsey had a point; they did worry and care about Ray, and he couldn't fault them for that. He was also aware that _he_ looked like the guilty party to them, keeping Ray locked up and away. If the situation were reversed, Ryan knew he'd be acting the same way, except he wouldn't let anything come between him and Ray. Not without getting a knife in the gut. 

Idly, Ryan flipped the knife through his fingers, thinking. He knew they wanted to know what was wrong, but Ray obviously didn't want them to know about his depression. The stigma was there, the thought of people thinking less of him, and the security of keeping the truth between the two of them. Ryan couldn't be the one to spill it for him.

With a sigh, Ryan set the knife aside and made a squiggly motion in the air, like he was writing on invisible paper. Ramsey looked confused before abrupt understanding crossed his face. “Oh.” Ryan let him scramble around for paper and a pen while he dumped the ice in the blender. Ray would have to come up with his own excuse, but he could at least stall for him.

When Ramsey slid the notebook and pen over, Ryan carefully considered what he was about to write. Not too much info ‒ nothing that wasn't their business, but enough to stop the questions.

_**Rays not feeling well. Spending today in bed** _

“Okay...” Ramsey wasn't satisfied with that, clearly. “Did he get hurt yesterday, or is it like a stomach bug‒” Ryan started the blender, neatly cutting off the conversation. He could feel the Lads watching him as well, and Jack with her knowing frown. Damnit. She was probably coming up with her own conclusions, putting together what she knew into something that danced dangerously close to the truth. Hopefully she would keep it to herself ‒ she of all people would understand keeping certain truths to oneself. 

“He'll be okay, won't he?” Ramsey asked when the noise died down. “We don't need to get Andy here, do we?” Ryan ignored the questions, getting two glasses for the bright pink smoothie. Geoff watched him pour, quietly mulling it over. “You know how to take ca‒ how to help him out, right?”

Ryan set the blender jar down with a deliberate ‘thunk’. _Why do you think I'm making him a smoothie?!_ he wanted to shout, but settled for glaring and gesturing fiercely at the treat he had so painstakingly made. Ramsey was so close to getting it, and that was both frustrating and terrifying. He didn't _want_ their relationship spelled out in big obvious letters, but damn if it meant they'd get fewer stupid questions…

He pulled the paper back over, scribbling quickly. _**Its Rays business  
hell tell you if he wants**_

Ramsey read that was a frown. “He knows he can trust us, right?” he asked in vain as Ryan gathered the glasses and some straws. “I mean, Jesus, I'm sorry he's feeling bad but he doesn't have to shut himself up‒”

“Geoff, just…” Jack finally approached, putting her hand on Ramsey's shoulder as Ryan turned to leave. “Give them some space, okay?” The rest of what she said was lost as Ryan walked away, but he could hear the frustrated whine in Geoff's voice as he returned to their room. They could deal with the dirty dishes for all he cared.

Ryan tried not to feel rattled as he rejoined Ray in bed. He didn't want to say anything, but he owed it to Ray to give him a warning. He didn't want him walking out there eventually and stumbling over Ramsey's expectations. 

**Geoff and the boys are worried about you**

Ray shrugged indifferently, interest not even lighting up his eyes as he took his drink. “They don't have to be.” That was damn false, but Ryan didn't feel like arguing. “You didn't say anything, right?”

He’d rather cut his tongue out than tell the crew anything they didn't deserve to know, even if that was the height of pointlessness. **I told them it was your business.** If Ramsey was smart, against all indications, he would take that answer as enough. Ryan didn't know how else to indicate “drop it and leave it alone” without otherwise resorting to violence, but if that's what it came to...

Ray still looked miserable. Ryan was sure the guilt was there, the knowledge that his friends were out there waiting for him. Ray trusted them. Even if Ryan didn't, Ray did, and they didn't deserve evasiveness from him. That was Ryan's thing. **You could tell them tho**

Ray made a disagreeable noise. “Can't see that going well,” he muttered morosely. Ryan wasn't sure if it was the depression talking, or Ray's own pessimistic outlook, but it was clear he wasn't liking the idea.

 **I didn't think less of you once I figured it out** It hadn't been pity, exactly. More a sense that something was wrong in a way that had never mattered before. Once he had pinpointed the problem, he had found how to help, both through conventional means and his own...unique way of helping. But he'd never thought less of him.

He thought Ray was so strong.

“Well, that kinda doesn't count.” Bullshit it didn't count. “Things were… they were already weird between us.”

Weird didn't even begin to describe it. Earth-shattering and mind-boggling more like, with an agonizing bone-deep desire to actually do something to help someone else. Ray knew it, and Ryan knew it.

He just hoped one day that things would work out, so Ray could really show how strong he was.


	5. EXCLUSIVE FIRST LOOK AT PART 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exclusive first look at Part 5! Enjoy

Nothing. There was nothing. He was sinking into a dark cloud of nothingness, it was enveloping him, he couldn't stop it, couldn't fight it. There was no point in fighting it. What did it fucking matter? It was all over, so why was he still existing?

_The Vagabond. They got him. It's all over._

“Let’s not panic yet,” Jack was saying in a soft voice, even as Gavin and Jeremy scrambled for their laptops. Geoff still seemed to be frozen in shock. “I mean, it’s just rumors, they haven’t identified him yet‒”

The door abruptly burst open. Ray’s head jerked over so fast he heard his neck snap.  
It was the Vagabond. Standing there, perfectly fine. Not even injured.

There was no time to think of the consequences. No time to pretend everything was normal, like he hadn’t had the worst heart attack of his life. Ray shot off the couch and threw himself into his arms. So strong and firm, they closed around his chest like they would never let go, holding him tight.

“Whaaat the fuck?” Geoff asked from behind him, just as shocked as Ray was. The Vagabond snorted, the sound heavy in Ray’s ear. One hand left his back, going for his pocket and his phone. When Ray felt his fingers still, he leaned back enough to read off the text. 

**What did I miss?**

Ray snorted. “You do realize they’re pretty much announcing your death on the TV, right?”

Under the mask, he could guess the _exact_ bemused face Ryan was making. Bemused and incredulous, with that stupid smile on his face.

**It wasn’t me. Just some dumbass wannabe thief wearing my halloween costume**

“Oh, fucking hell,” Jack groaned, sinking onto the couch. “You’re like... you’re fucking impossible. You’re a fucking enigma. Like, even if I see your dead body, I’m one hundred perfect sure you’re somehow gonna sit back up and keep shooting. Like you’re never gonna fucking die.”

“Dude, how do you think I feel?” Ray mumbled, face still pressed to Ryan’s chest. He felt the most gentle of laughs before the phone was put back in his face.

**Were you really that worried about me?**

“No. Shut up,” Ray grumbled into his chest. He was so relieved, so happy to have him there, solid and alive. Even the sight of his face, slowly being revealed by him pushing up his mask, wasn’t enough to freak him out.

It didn’t matter.

Ryan kissed him, so hard it almost swept him off his feet, and made a chorus of birds and angelic singing go off in his head. He had Ryan. Nothing else mattered as long as he had him.

Everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't that be nice, if I just neatly ended that cliffhanger with something nice and wonderful?
> 
> Too bad I posted this on April Fools.
> 
> (There is one paragraph I copied directly from the Part 5 WiP, so feel free to mull that over)


	6. Reaper Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicious activities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Inspiration: _Reaper Man_ by Mother Mother

There was a knock at the door.

Ryan's head jerked up in alarm, hands stilling their motion of sliding the knife across the sharpener. Alertness raced up his back, making everything come into hard focus. His hand tightening on the knife’s handle. He'd been followed‒ the cops, a gang, the kid had turned him in, turned on him, they were all going to go down in fire and agony if they _dared_ ‒

The kid wandered out from the short hallway, hood up, ignoring him. Ryan stood, tracking him with his eyes, scanning the lumps of his hoodie. No added bulk or suspicious weight in the pockets, no nervous looks or hesitation in his walk. Didn't even pause at the door, unlocking it and opening it wide, like there wasn't an invading army on the other side.

And...okay, maybe there wasn't. Because the muffled voice he could hear on the other side just sounded like general food delivery niceties. There was the fluid scratch of a pen signing a receipt, the slide of cardboard on plastic, and the door closed, leaving the kid holding a pizza.

Ryan waited, still on edge, for the other shoe to drop. What were the odds that it was _just_ a pizza, delivered to someone who had daily interaction with a notorious criminal madman, who had every reason to want him out? Was there a hidden message in the pizza sauce, a listening device embedded in the cardboard? Why was the kid still standing there, staring at the food in his hands but making no move to actually eat it?

The kid finally sighed, not some light sigh of disgust or resignation, but something bordering close to a moan of pain. He slid the cardboard box onto the counter, the crumpled receipt settling next to it, before slowly making his way back to his room. Ryan heard the latch click as the door closed, and then nothing.

Right. That was…not normal. Not normal at all. Who just _left_ a pizza they had _just_ ordered on the counter, not even an attempt to eat it or put it in the fridge or anything? Ryan could smell the distinctive scent of cheap cheese, an unmistakable odor of something so bad it was good. The kid had to be hungry; that's why he had ordered the damn food in the first place. He barely seemed to eat when Ryan was around to notice. Why the fuck wasn't he eating it? Why the fuck was Ryan asking himself questions about him _again_?!

If this was some kind of set-up, it was the most half-assed attempt he'd ever seen. Was it a _bribe_? Did he leave it waiting for Ryan to eat because it was poisoned? He would have said something, surely, even an invitation to eat it so Ryan could analyze if it was sincere or not. And he was still fucking thinking about it.

Ryan approached it carefully, like it was a bomb or…fuck, he didn't know, he couldn't even think about what was going through that kid's head. He didn't. Care. At all. Not one bit. Because whatever the kid's issues were, they weren't affecting him and they were none of his business. 

He cracked the lid open, peering inside to eyeball the greasy sea of cheese inside. Nothing suspicious about the pepperoni, no writing on the inside of the lid. It was just a damn pizza, that the kid had bought and discarded on the counter for reasons known only to him. Probably just to fuck with Ryan's head.

The receipt was similarly unenlightening. Generous tip, please order from us again‒ Ryan paused at the signature line. Messy cursive claimed that his name was Ray. And it was too messy to be a fake name. As someone who was meticulous about making sure each of his feigned signatures was acceptably scribbley, Ryan could tell the difference. 

So…the kid was Ray.

No, the kid was the kid. No names, no questions, no wondering what was wrong with him and why he never left, why he never asked, why he didn't care. Ryan didn't care.  
He didn't care.

He left the pizza as he found it, going back to his knives as it cooled on the counter. It was still there when he left for a job, and was still there when he came back two days later. He threw it in the trash and tried not to wonder what it meant.


	7. Black Betty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Inspiration: _Black Betty_ by Ram Jam

“Alright, you guys.” Jack looked up from her plate to see Geoff pointing his fork towards Lindsay and Jeremy. “Got a question for ya. This is really important, a big decider if you're gonna be working with us.”

Jack fought a grin. She already knew what it was. Jeremy was looking eager, like he usually did towards Geoff (if she had to bet, Jack didn't think that particular look would last long), but Lindsay was also clearly hiding a smile. Her bullshit detector was almost as good as Jack's. 

Geoff gave them one last dramatic look before blurting it out. “Do you think Ray and the Vagabond are fucking?”

Their reactions were varied. Jeremy's confused “What?” was immediate, while Lindsay just nodded confidently. “Absolutely,” she answered.

Jack laughed and held her hand up for a high five. “Congrats, you're on my team now.” Lindsay grinned mischievously and returned the five. 

“Wait, are you serious?” Jeremy was looking at them all like he was trying to figure out the joke, but there was no joke to be had.

“Dead serious, man,” Jack told him as she went back to her burger. “They're totally banging.”

“No, they're not!” Geoff still clearly refused to believe it. “I refuse to believe it. There's no fucking way!”

“Are you kidding me, Geoff? Have you seen the way they look at each other?” Lindsay gestured with her pickle spear. “I'd go so far as to call them long-term. That is not fuck-buddy behavior.”

Eagerly, Jack leaned towards her new best friend. “So that wasn't a joke you said earlier, was it?” she asked. “When they came to your shop? _Was_ that a date?”

“Absolutely.” Lindsay's voice only held dead-on certainty. Jack grinned triumphantly, remembering Ray's face and his half-assed dismissal. It _had_ been a date, and Ray _knew_ it had been a date. Poor kid was a shit liar.

“Wait, when was this?” Jeremy was half-out of his seat with interest, looking between her and Lindsay. 

“It must have been early, when they first started getting together. Maybe even before they were officially working together?” Lindsay shrugged. “You should have seen them. The Vagabond was totally flirting with him.”

“How does a guy who never talks flirt?” Geoff interjected, like he was trying to prove a point. 

“By showing off with a pair of butterfly knives is how.” Lindsay gave him a ‘told ya’ look. “Believe me, he might as well have gave Ray a bunch of flowers and a ring. Bought all his ammo, too.”

“Well, we already knew he was a sugar daddy.” Jack's joke made Geoff choke on his bun. “Seriously, the guy would do anything for Ray. You know that's why he went apeshit on the old crew here.”

“It is?” Jeremy looked stunned, and Jack briefly wondered if she should be sharing Ray's clearly hoarded shit. But fuck it, Jeremy was crew now. And so was Ray, as far as she was concerned. At least unofficially.

“I guess the old crew turned on Ray or something. He used to be one of them.” That at least was open knowledge, at least to someone with Gavin's skill of hacking. “Don't know how he got the Vagabond to go after them for him though. But he totally did. With extreme prejudice.”

"Ray’s gotta have dirt on him,” Geoff butted in. “Like, he must know the guy's face, or his name or something, and the Vagabond puts up with his shit cause of that.”

Jack groaned at Geoff's unromanticism. “If that was the case the Vagabond woulda just killed him by now.” That was cold, but it was a good point. The fucker was ruthless, scary and dangerous with everyone _except_ Ray. So that exception had to mean something.

“I don't know why he hasn't yet,” Jeremy cut in. “Like, seriously, when Ray first started working with him, that's what everyone thought, that he was blackmailing the Vagabond or something. But you think it's cause they're boyfriends?” Jeremy was making some kind of face at the thought, and Jack knew he was gonna be on Geoff's (incorrect) side. 

“It's because they're in love, assholes.” Lindsay at least sounded convinced. “Ray probably knows all the details, man, knows his face and his name and everything. He's like the Vagabond's secret-keeper.”

Geoff glared at her. “Do you seriously think the _Vagabond_ ,” he stressed the title like it would make his point have any more weight, “would let _anyone_ that close to him? Especially someone like Ray. Dude's an okay guy, don't get me wrong, but he'd probably sell the Vagabond out for a gas station burrito.”

“Wow,” Lindsay laughed as Jack groaned again. “Seriously? You don't think Ray wouldn't go apeshit on someone who threatens the Vagabond? Those guys would go ham for each other. Just try and get between them, see what happens.” 

“Okay,” Jack cut Geoff off when he tried to argue again. “Stakes are down a little, four to three now. Hundred bucks, gets split with the winning team if the truth ever comes out.”

"Wait." Jeremy was counting on his fingers. "That's seven. What the hell, who else is in on this?"

"Gav's in twice," Jack answered with an eye roll. "He couldn't decide on one outcome so he picked both."

“I'm good for two.” Lindsay reached into her purse for a stack of hundreds. “What's the deciding factor? I mean, if we're right it'd be pretty obvious, like if they started fuckin’ in front of us or whatever, but if they're not?”

“If the Vagabond comes in covered in Ray's blood, that would do it.” Jack coolly took their bets and stuck them down her bra. She knew it probably wasn't nice to be making bets on a friend's relationship, but fuck it, Ray and the Vagabond were providing entertainment and endless discussion. And if she and Lindsay (and Gavin) were right, then she could rub it in Geoff's fucking face.

If not…well, it'd be a shame. Ray was so fucking obvious about how he felt about the Vagabond. If nothing really was happening between them, she would be a good wingwoman and push him in that direction. 

It wasn't cheating if she was helping a friend.


	8. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate take of a very important scene in Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Yeah! Borderline is finished, I'm gonna write something fun and fluffy and funny- 
> 
> My Life: _Goes to solid shit for two weeks_
> 
> Me: ...Back to my comfort fic then
> 
> Title Inspiration: _Closer_ by The Chainsmokers and Halsey

Damn. Damn it all to hell.

Damn the sun for coming up. Damn the shitty curtains for letting the light in. Damn his phone for daring to vibrate against the nightstand. And especially damn whoever was on the other end making it vibrate.

But most of all, damn _him_ for waking up with his arms wrapped around Ray. _Again_.

Ryan groaned and was met with an echoing one from Ray. Was it directed at him? There was no hiding it this time. Ray was very much awake, and he had to be aware of Ryan's embrace, the way his warmth was settled against the shape of Ryan's body. Hell, he was lying on Ryan's arm, no easy way to pull away and play it off like last time. No way it could be considered an "accident".

Blindly, Ryan swiped the phone from the nightstand. The cold air between them when he pulled away stung, and the texts didn't offer enough information to get him out of bed. Ryan texted back for clarification, then‒ _damn him!_ -went back to his place next to Ray. He repositioned himself where he had been, arm across Ray's side, the warm contact he had found in his sleep and couldn't fight, even with the feelings of guilt. Ray breathed a soft little sigh and didn't struggle away.

He would have pulled away, Ryan tried to convince himself. Pushed back, asked or _something_ , if he didn't like the contact. Ray had made his thoughts and feelings well known before. He would say something if he didn't want Ryan touching him like this.

Right?

It was…nice. Not even scratching the surface of what it could be, but comfortable, soft, painless touches that Ray…seemed to appreciate. And Ryan, _damn him_ , treasured being able to put his arms around someone and hold them close. He didn't even have nightmares when Ray was in his arms, not even _those_ ones.

But that was a cheap excuse to fall back on, weak and false. Ray had never initiated anything, never reached out to Ryan for an embrace. It was always him, barging into Ray's space and getting what he wanted. And even that guilt wasn't enough to stop him.

It didn't matter ‒ Didn't. Matter. ‒ if he suffered, if Ray was uncomfortable he would pull back.

He would. 

Ray took a breath, and Ryan's heart stopped. 

"Another job?" he mumbled, voice soft with sleep. Not a push. Ryan made a noise of agreement, feeling the movements of Ray's body in his arms, settling softly in his hold. "You're popular." Ryan agreed again, the soft hairs brushing against his face as he nodded. Ray wasn't struggling, wasn't pulling away. He could stay, keep Ray in his arms, keep him safe and make him happy and‒ 

The next thought was cut off with the sharpest intent. Ray had never said no, never pushed him away, but he'd never said yes and pulled him in. It was too easy to keep tripping down the path they were taking, and plunge off the edge together. Ryan _couldn't_ hurt Ray. He couldn't. If he pulled too hard, did the wrong thing, did the _unthinkable_ he would end up hurting Ray, and the worst of it all, Ray wouldn't say anything, wouldn't fight back, would just accept with that heartbreaking apathy Ryan wanted to drive from him. He _couldn't_.

Bless the phone, it was vibrating again. Ryan grabbed it up, forcing his brain to focus on the job being offered. There was no time for doubts or questions when he was on the job. He had to be focused, sure. His thoughts sharpened, breaking into the steps he would follow through. Steps to get him out alive, every time.

Get up. Get dressed. Get the car. Get to the job. Do the job. Survive.

Ryan pulled away from the warm space in the bed, feeling much sturdier with the plan laid out. Get dressed. Inconspicuous, nothing that got attention. He'd get the car, get the rest of the outfit, get the job done, live, and move on to the next one.

When he stopped by the nightstand, grabbing the burner and his own phone, Ray was watching again, with that soft smile, and a soft wave of his hand. Ryan couldn't help but smile back. 

Do the job. Survive. Come home to Ray.

Ryan left the apartment, taking the stairs, the steps breaking down further into each task. Leave the building, get to the parking garage, bribe the attendant to look the other way. The back of his mind was breaking down the job, already plotting the steps to surviving. That's how he kept alive, through everything. The actions that would get him to the last step, now buffered by an unexpected reward. Something to drive and look forward to.

Get to the job. The miles and hours passing did little to distract him from the job in his mind. It was just a step, the tedious one, but gave him time to plan more. How he would react to a double cross, what to do if the cops showed, what chance he'd have of bringing something back for Ray. A thousand ideas, a million backup plans. Secure.

Several states away from home, nearing his destination. Ryan pulled over along a secluded stretch of road. Looking like he was going to stretch his legs, but really making his final change. The trunk held the rigged lockbox, where he hid his jacket and mask when he wasn't on the job, and where personal items waited while he was. Either would be destroyed if anyone but him opened it. 

The last step before the job started. Ryan pulled out the jacket, throwing it over his arm as he carelessly tossed his wallet into the trunk. Steady, familiar actions, he pulled out his phone to leave it, much more gently, behind.

It went off in his hand, jarring like a finger in a socket. Ryan jumped, so surprised he almost dropped the phone, and stared at the screen in shock. The number had no name, but the picture was of a hooded figure, back to the camera, a video game lighting up the background.

Ray.

Ray was calling him.

_Ray was calling him_.

Ray was about to go to voicemail. Frantically, Ryan jabbed the answer button, slapping the phone to his ear. The other end of the line was deathly silent. _God_ what he would give to be able to talk, ask why he was calling, _what if it wasn't him on the other end_ \- 

"The apartment's fucked." Ray's voice…Ryan knew that tone. The panic layered with uncertainty. His heart lurched once before it dropped, adding to the steady growth of alarm. "Some guys came in, I got them but I had to get out, I'm on the street now," _Ray_ , out in the open, _alone_ and vulnerable‒ "I've got your stuff but I don't…I don't…"

His voice trailed off, and Ryan wanted to scream, jump through the phone and onto the street and grab him, hold him, make sure he was okay. Could Ray hear it, the pounding of his heart in his ears, the staggered breaths fighting the tightening of his throat? _Ray. Please._

He caught a whispered "Fuck," before the line went dead.

No. _NO!_ Ryan spun around, forgetting the jacket on his arm as he slammed the trunk closed. _Don't go don't go don't go._ His fingers fumbled frantically over the screen, autocorrect doing most of the work to compose the most important text of his life.

**Find somewhere to wait. I'll be there in a few hours**

The job was gone, erased from his brain like it never existed. New steps were seared into his brain, pounding with the beat of his heart, spreading energy through his veins as he started the car and jerked it around, back the way he had come.

Get to Ray. Get to Ray. Get Ray safe. Make Ray okay. _Get. To. Ray._

The fiery thoughts burned, it was so hard to breathe, but the focus was there. Single-minded, the urge to get to Ray and make sure he was okay. On instinct he threw his jacket in the backseat, tucking it out of sight in his spare bag. The back of his mind was coolly running over the facts, the knowledge that Ray had been chased out of _his_ apartment and that was no coincidence. But he couldn't focus on that yet. He had to get Ray.

Miles down the road, his thigh buzzed. Not the smartphone, the burner. Not even sparing it a glance, Ryan rolled down the window and tossed it out. It didn't matter. He had to get to Ray.

The drive, already achingly long the first time he drove it, was agonizing. He couldn't go too fast or he'd be caught, but honestly, he was willing to murder everyone who got between him and Ray. He couldn't stop, couldn't slow down, couldn't think of anything but getting to him. 

_If he's still there._

No. Ray had called. He had called for help, even if he never said it. He had to have called for that reason, so Ryan could come and get him. If he didn't…if he didn't want Ryan around, always in his space and too close and dangerous, he wouldn't have called. This was the perfect opportunity to leave, to vanish in the crowd and leave an aching hole in Ryan's chest, as obvious an answer as anything he could have said.

Please. Please let him be somewhere, _anywhere_ , waiting for him. 

His smartphone finally buzzed with a new text. Ryan glanced at it, heart rising in his chest when he saw it was an address. Ray was waiting for him. He plugged it in the GPS and yes, it was still in Liberty, blocks away from their apartment, but he was on his way. He would get to Ray.

Cars passed him in flashes, leaving the city as he was entering it. Ryan gnashed his teeth, anger seeping through his veins. _Get the fuck out of the way._ Didn't they understand Ray _needed_ him?

Blocks away, Ryan ditched the car. He couldn't wait, couldn't fight for parking when he was so close. Even as he pushed his way through the crowd, his darkest fears threatened to rise, _What if he wasn't really there, what if it was a set-up, what if Ray never wants to see you again_ -

Ryan shoved through the door, heart in his throat, scanning the room frantically. _There_. Ray, waiting for him, looking small and alone in the chair by the window. He was there. _He was okay._

He didn't even remember crossing the room. All Ryan knew was that he needed to have Ray in his arms, and then he did, holding him so close and so tight. He could feel Ray breathing against his chest, fitting in his arms that had ached to have him there. He was alive. He had waited. Ryan _breathed_ , the sharp fear sinking back down, his hands in Ray's hair and at his back. The feelings he would never admit to having were surging in his chest, and maybe it was a good thing he couldn't talk, couldn't embarrass himself. But Ray had to know.

Ray was tense for just long enough for the worry to come back, too still in his arms. And then he relaxed, leaning back into Ryan, returning the embrace. Fitting against his chest like he belonged there and nowhere else. _God._

They couldn't stay there forever. Ryan knew the danger, could clearly see the next steps laid out before him. Bring Ray somewhere safe. Make sure he really was okay. After that…he'd figure it out. They'd figure it out.

"I'm alright."

He was. He was alive and in his arms, safe and secure. Ryan could feel metal and straps under Ray's hoodie ‒ his hoodie ‒ and the gun in his pocket where they were pressed together. Ray had done his own job and he was so proud of him, but Ryan would take over from there. He would handle everything for Ray. Whoever it was had hurt Ray, made him afraid, and that was _unacceptable_.

The burning flavor of revenge leached into Ryan's thoughts. Oh yes, whoever was behind this would _pay_.

Ryan pulled back reluctantly, seeing the exhaustion on Ray's face. He had done enough. Ryan grabbed the duffle at his feet, and Ray had his jump bag, that perfect little criminal, and that was all they needed. Ryan pulled him close again, arm over Ray's shoulders as he led the way out. He wasn't going to let go anytime soon. He was going to keep Ray safe, help him however he could, do his best to make him happy and keep him by his side. No matter what it took.


End file.
